


Hell and High Lightning

by Tsume_Yuki



Category: Daredevil (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Female Harry Potter, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-04-15 06:51:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4597020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tsume_Yuki/pseuds/Tsume_Yuki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being blind meant that Matt would never get to see his splitting mark glow. <br/>And he's never been okay with that, not really. </p>
<p>Harry's markings had always been a warm red, just a few shades shy of blood. Or, that's what she told herself. <br/>When she meets the guy after he's just finished pummelling the Russians that were harassing her, she knew why she'd ended up with that colouring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

_Hell's Kitchen_

 

Everyone is born with Splitting Scars. It's old, very old; it crops up in every history of every nation across the world.

People are born with markings on their chest.

It could be one single line, short and sharp, or an endless gathering of blurry, curly lines. There's hundreds of variations out there, and that's before taking into account any colours. Throughout the history of the world, the cause of Splitting Scars have never been truly unravelled.

What people have managed to figure out though, is that they are what lead a person to their soulmate. That the scars and the result of the soul being place into the body, the entry point where it was broke off from its pairing. The markings don't have to match, in fact, few peoples come close to doing so.

But they do glow.

Once soulmates get within twenty feet of each other, they start to emit a soft glow. No one knows why twenty feet is the magic number, it just is. And the closer the soulmates get to one another, physically, the brighter the glow becomes.

Sure, once you've found your partner you can train mentally to hide the glow, like you can hold your breath.

But it doesn't feel natural. It doesn't feel right.

It was a mark of pride, to find your soulmate, and few wished to hide it.

Everyone is born with a Splitting Scar. No ifs no buts.

 

 

Whether you get to see your little light show however, is a different story altogether.

 

* * *

 

 

It curls out in a warm, blood red.

Emitting softly from the collar of her shirt, the gentle light even seeping through the thick fabric of her tee-shirt.

Harry stares down at it, at the markings on her chest that were, after twenty five years, finally glowing.

Her soul splitting. It's a beautiful colour, the colour of passion and love, of anger and blood. It's warmth.

Everything about it feels warmth. It's Gryffindor red and the colour of the stunning spell and after being stuck in this dimension for five years, five years with no way back and five years of rebuilding her life, at last, there's this one reprise. This one good thing that, in the past five years, has finally come her way.

 

The breath catches in her throat and Harry twists on the hard concrete, eyes darting up to look for the source.

She's going to be furious, if she comes face to face with one of the bastards that was planning on beating her up, on stealing from her, and finds out it's one of them glowing. Words won't even begin to describe how angry she would be over such a thing.

But it's not.

 

There's a soft thump as one of the men hit the floor, the quick successive thumps as fists meet unprotected torso and another of her would-be attackers hits the ground.

Harry watched it all happen with a detached sense of amazement, her heart caught in her throat as the man that's glowing a soft green, the man in the mask, takes care of those who would have harmed her.

Even with her heart lodged in her throat as it is, the muscle doesn't stop beating wildly, shocked, excited. Anticipation thrums through her veins, and Harry chokes, trying to form words, trying to speak.

For a second, the man turned to look at her, and Harry gets a good look at the black cowl that covers his eyes. How can he see?

The question soon disappears from her mind though, because the man only offers her the slightest cock of his head before he's gone.

Harry tries to call, tries to get him to stop because does he not realize they glow? That they match?

But he's gone, disappearing into the shadows of the alleyway before she can get the first word past her lips.

The redhead remains sat on the filthily alleyway floor, furious over everything that has just happened.

Over the fact he walked away, as if the glow meant nothing.

Had she not been wandless, had she not accidentally snapped her wand upon her harsh landing in this strange world, she'd have been able to stop him.

Right now though, all Hariel Potter can do is force her shaky legs to take her weight, and head home.

 

 

 

She has far from given up.


	2. March 5th 2015

 

 

 

Perhaps Soulmates wasn't the best definition.

Just because you glowed with one person, it didn't mean you were stuck with that person for life. It was more that, out of everyone in the world, this is the person that best fits you. How it's determined, no one knows.

There's no biological make-up to it, no chemistry equation.

It's just a case of things fitting into place, slotting neatly one by one. That's not to say all matches end up right. Some people get the short end of the stick, some people, it never quite works out for. Maybe one half of the Soul Splitting is too damaged by the world, too wounded, to accept any kindness.

 

But that doesn't stop people from trying.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Coffee was, quite frankly, the answer to all of life's problems.

That was it, as far as Harry was concerned. It healed all problems, the sleepiness that came with first rolling out of bed, the sluggish feeling that wrapped around her mind and insisted that work would not be completed today.

She was leaning against the counter of the Starbucks, huddled neatly into a coat that was maybe a size too big for her -because honestly, some habits were hard to break and she felt safer the more fabric she wore- as she waited on a cup of coffee. One with copious amounts of cream and sugar.

Hogwarts had never served coffee, had tried to avoid giving the students anything that would leave them more awake to cause trouble.

Pushing down the pain such thoughts brought her, Harry lent to the right, letting the latest suit pass her by without risk of bumping into her elbows. America was a lot more hustle and bustle, though that could be because she was in the muggle side of things.

Not that there was a wizarding side of things for her to be in here.

Teeth grinding against one another, Harry took in a deep breath, before letting it all flow out of her.

She was testy, she knew that. Who wouldn't be? She'd been marooned in this parallel world for five years now, five years of building something from nothing.

Well, that wasn't quite true. She'd lived out of a tent for a year, trying to find anything, anything at all that would point her towards the Wizarding World. There had been nothing though, and with festering wounds, she'd left England before it could get any worse.

Four years then, in America. Three of them spent living in the tent.

It was, of course, always going to be here who ended up in this situation.

She'd set off to investigate a strange anomaly for the Department of Mysteries. Living in a tent, constantly tracking the strange energy -because it had always, always been moving- it'd been pure luck that she'd had hold of her tent when the energy had spiked, ripping her from that world and dropping her into this one. With no way back, as far as she'd been able to tell.

So yes, four years of building a new life. Travelling around America and trying to decide what to do with her life now that it seemed she'd be living here. It'd taken two solid years to build up a paper trail, to get all the official documents.

And she had done it all legally.

True, if there were laws against mind compulsions, little spells to look the other way, then she wouldn’t have been able to say that.

But with the significant lack of any magical being at all, Harry had allowed herself this one thing to pave her way forwards.

Her fingers twitched, wanting to reach for a wand that was no longer there. It'd been snapped two years ago, when she'd made the mistake of going back to England to investigate the strange portals that were taking people to other worlds.

Of course, they'd been gone by the time she got there, but the government hadn't quite cleaned up all the beasties that'd come through.

She'd managed to kill the thing when it attacked her, but not without losing her wand to the beast, and she had since carved it up for use in potions as revenge.

Oh, if Snape could see her now. Creating her own potions, her own twisted recipes of potions, experimenting of unnamed creature parts in potions.

Snorting, Harry brushed a red ringlet back over her shoulder, gratefully accepting her drink when the barrister offered it up. Handing over the money for her coffee -and thank god the goblins had never let her have a vault again, because otherwise she'd have ended up here with no money either- Harry offered the woman a thankful nod before turning on heels and heading for the door.

 

 

 

She'd been present in Hell's Kitchen for a month now, and it'd been four days since the masked man, since her Soul Splitting, had saved her from being assaulted by those muggers. Not that they'd have gotten far. While her wandless magic wasn't quite at the stage where she could shoot off spells, skin on skin contact meant she could still use her magic. If they'd laid a finger on her, they'd have ended up stunned.

Though in all honesty, she was probably only that efficient at magic because she'd dug Fawkes' feather from the wreckage of her wand, thankfully still whole even if the wood was not.

It rested between her breasts now, carefully held in place by a thin silver chain. The jeweller she'd approached with the request had laughed at the idea of putting a feather on a silver chain, but had soon stopped when he saw the feather itself.

Compared to all the birds in the muggle world, Fawkes feather was like something out of a fairy tale, as if it came from a mystical land. She still used it to channel what powerful magic she could manage, always holding it with one hand and casting with the other.

When it came to a wand though, Harry hadn't dared try to make one. Not when she only had one feather to use. If something went wrong, she'd be even more useless with her magic than she already was.

So she made do.

 

 

 

Stepping out of the coffee shop and into the hustle and bustle of New York, Harry grimaced and clutched her coffee tighter.

It was a pitifully cold March, the coldest one she'd had here in the five years she'd been present.

Yet it had given her an excuse to break out her thick Gryffindor scarf. The dye on the wool was never going to disappear, Harry knew that for certain, that's what magical production did. It was still a bright beacon of red and gold, and bold as the day she'd first gotten it.

She had plenty of others, ones that Ginny had knitted her for Christmas, each with different designs that grew more complex as the years went on and her skill improved. Hell, she had a few she'd made herself.

But the Gryffindor one was special. It's the one that Hermione charmed to always smell of Hogwarts, something she'd done on the first Christmas after the war finished. It wasn't the smell of Hogwarts as she last remembered, of the war that'd ripped it apart. It was the smell of her childhood, of warm pumpkins and the freshly washed sheets of the dorm room. It smelt of the forbidden forest and the warmth of the fireplace in the common room. It smelt of home, and for that, it would always be her favourite.

One hand digging into her coat pocket, Harry let her eyes trail over the masses of people walking along the streets of New York, of Hell's Kitchen in particular.

She'd been wary of setting up shop in a place known for its violence. But, there would always be a need for food. People like things that were unusual, so it hadn't taken Harry dreadfully long to set up a small restaurant serving the recipes of food she'd eaten at Hogwarts.

Hell, she didn't need a job given the fact she'd brought all her Gringotts gold over, which she'd been slowly transferring into paper money over the years. Owning a business though, was better than just being the rich heiress in town however, even if she left the running of the restaurant to the little employees that she'd hired. Hell, as long as they didn't set the place of fire and brought in enough money for Harry to pay their wages, the bills and leave a little profit left over, she didn't care.

Because as of four days ago, something a tad more important had cropped up after all.

 

 

 

The first time that Ron had suggested free-running, Harry had laughed at him. She'd taken it a bit more seriously when Hermione had backed him up though.

In fact, it'd been Hermione that had come up with the idea originally, and she'd just gotten Ron to voice it because she felt Harry would have been more inclined to agree with him than her. After that, the three of them had sat down, discussing the idea.

Gringotts had been far too close a call. They'd all nearly died several times, and with all that time spent on the run, well, being able to run well would have helped. It would have helped a hell of a lot.

Hermione, genius that she was, had pointed out with Harry now an Unspeakable and Ron in Auror training, it would probably help them out if they knew how to move better. And should anyone get an idea about filling the void of space for a Dark Lord, then they'd come after the Golden Trio first.

Really, they should always be preparing for the worst.

So they'd trained, and after the first three months, Harry had even come to enjoy it.

Before, running was associated with the Dursleys, with fleeing for Dudley and his friends during another game of Harry hunting. But Hermione's suggestion had managed to turn that on its head. Running was suddenly their thing. The wind pushing her forwards, jumping from a ledge and sticking a landing on another sent a rush of adrenaline through Harry's veins, the good kind.

Not the 'I'm running from certain death' kind.

Even when she landed in this new world, she'd kept it up, first under the delusion that she'd be able to return and Harry hadn't wanted to have fallen behind while Hermione and Ron ploughed onwards. Now she kept in up in homage to them.

And quite frankly, it was coming in bloody useful.

Not only had it been the thing that saved her life that day with the wand breaking beastie, but now she had a vigilante to track down. One who seemed to stick to the rooftops.

As the respectable owner of a business, Harry couldn't really afford to be recognised as an accomplish to the vigilante that was her soulmate. While she personally had no idea how he dealt with having a mask over the upper half of his head, Harry could deal with covering the lower half of her face.

So, a face mask it was.

Adjusting the black fabric so that it rested comfortably against the bridge of her nose, curving around her cheeks and coming to sit just beneath her ears, Harry examined herself in the mirror. The coloured contacts turned her mother's green eyes a muddy brown, and a simple colour changing potion had her hair midnight black instead of its usual red. She'd just have to remember to take the reverse potion in the morning.

Sucking in a deep breath, Harry approached the edge of her window, staring out across the dark streets of Hell's Kitchen.

This would be so much easier if she still had her wand. She'd be able to cast all sorts of concealment charms, blur her features, the works. With just a wand core though, such a thing was currently beyond her.

Grimacing, Harry tightened her ponytail and pulled open the window, easing out onto the fire escape. She could do this. She would do this.

And then she'd get her damn answers on why the vigilante didn't seem to care about the fact they glowed.

 

 

 

She found him at the docks. Fawkes feather brushed against her breasts, warming as her chest did, slowly beginning to glow.

Not good.

Several different shades of not good, because if Vigilante was planning on sneaking up on someone, the brilliant green glow would give him away in an instant.

Sucking in a breath, Harry pulled at her Occlumency shields, coiling them tighter and holding them steady as the glow of her chest died. There was after all, a reason Vigilante was wearing a mask. And if she ever wanted a hope in hell of this thing working out during the day time, then she needed to make damn sure that their glowing couldn't be linked back to the glowing of Vigilante and her own disguise.

Worrying her lip between her teeth beneath the thin black cotton, Harry eased herself across the top of a shipping container, thankful that silencing charms, at the very least, were not beyond her. Her heart was beating fast, anticipation thrumming through her veins as her hands clenched on the edge of the metal.

There were voices coming from the left, and cautiously, Harry began making her way over, eyes scanning the surroundings.

She froze in place when they landed upon the form of the vigilante, crouched on the edge of a shipping crate with his head twisted in her direction.

They remained that way for a mere moment, before he effortlessly flipped over to join her, one gloved hand snatching up her shoulder in a tight grip.

"What are you doing here?" His voice was low, rough and gravelly.

Blinking slowly, Harry took in the sharp angle of the vigilante's jaw, the lips flushed pink in the cold of the night.

"I was thinking I'd find you," Harry hissed back quietly, "I-"

She was interrupted, as a van slowly approached.

The vigilante grunted, pulling her back and out of the range of the vehicle's lights.

Pressed flushed against the metal container, Harry watched with wide eyes as a man smoothly dismounted from the driver's seat, and then proceeded to drag females, one after the other, form the back of the van and towards a shipping crate.

Surely not.

She couldn't be witnessing an act of human trafficking, could she?

But no, that seemed to be exactly what was before her eyes, the man couldn’t' have made it any clearer unless he explicitly stated it, instead of just commenting on the price they could get for the women.

"Stay here," Vigilante muttered beneath his breath, one gloved hand pressing into her shoulder a bit harder than necessary to make sure she got the message.

 Scowling, Harry manoeuvred herself until she was stood in such a way that she could see everything that was about to go down, to keep an eye on her soulmate. If he needed help, she'd step in.

But in a world where Gods of Thunder came down on a magical rainbow waterfall and superheroes were frozen in blocks of ice, Harry was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

So she remained back, watching as the man in black went about systematically taking down the multitude of men, one after the other. Using the shadows of the crates to his advantage, the vigilante tore through the group of men, sending one crashing into the water, two more to the floor in a heap. Harry paid full attention, determined not to miss a thing.

All those years putting a life together, but this was the first time things had moved forwards on their own. Her soulmate. So, she was suppose to end up in this dimension? Trapped here? With her soulmate and nothing else?

Grimacing, Harry's eyes tracked Vigilante, watching as he made his way over to the crate. His body tensed in the same moment that one of the men he'd downed pulled a gun, and Harry acted.

With a flick of her wrist, the gun shot out of his hand, flying towards her at the same time that Vigilante's foot came down on the man's head, knocking him out cold.

Frowning, Harry stared down at the gun in her head, feeling the palm of her skin flare with magic.

Not a second later, the metal began warping in on itself, the modified warming spell melting the weapon down into a useless hunk of metal. Hey, using an unbound phoenix feather, fire spells were somewhat of an affinity now.

Dropping the smoking mess, Harry let her eyes fall on the man who was only now just making his way over, ducking around one of the steel crates in his path.

There was something wrong with this image, but what, Harry just couldn't place it. The tilt of his head maybe? That it appeared as if he was looking at the floor, not at her? Maybe.

"So, are we going to talk about this?"

"That you just melted a gun with your hand?"

Well, that explained the safe distance between the two of them right now.

"No. The fact that we glow."

A moment of stillness, Vigilante's body tensed, in preparation for fight or flight.

"You're not lying…" He trailed off, running one flustered hand across the top of his head, lips twitching down when the gloved hand met the material of his mask and not his hair.

"Why woul- You didn't see it."

Letting go of her Occlumency barriers apparently meant nothing, the man didn't so much as twitch.

There they stood, illuminated by the soft glow, and he didn't acknowledge it in any way, shape or form. Either he really didn't care in the slightest, or-

"You can't see."

There was no flinch. He'd have to have stuck around to flinch.

While Harry had pulled at the neckline of her shirt to get a better look at her glowing red chest, the light had faded, and when she'd next looked up, he was gone.

 

And fury the colour of her glow burned through her.


	3. March 6th 2015

 

 

 

Some people rebel against soul marks, determined to be with who they want out of 'freewill'. Some people claim the splittings are 'god's plan'; others, a 'biological advantage'.

The Wizards had waffled on about something to do with complimentary magic, and those that believed in the Norse gods had once stated that those who glowed were made of the same stardust, fallen from the Bifrost. There are hundreds and thousands of reasons, of explanations, but the one thing that never deviates from those who spin tales of splittings, is that they are connected.

And that they should remain so.

 

* * *

 

 

Sat up on the silken sheets of his bed, Matt Murdock cradled his head between his hands, palms pressing into his cheeks.

The words from the previous night, spoken in a soft English accent, were still running through his head, had kept him awake all night.

He hadn't been able to sleep, not since he'd fled that dock, leaving the young woman that was his Splitting, with his heart thumping wildly in his chest.

It wasn't like she couldn't look after herself, that much was obvious when she'd melted the gun with her bare hands. He had questions about that.

Was she like Thor? A being from another dimension? Given the fact she seemed to have summoned a gun to her hands, only to melt it, it was a serious concern.

Or did she have something to do with those Extremis people that Tony Stark had taken down in the past? Foggy had read out some of the files to him when SHIELD had its big exposure moment, and that'd been one of the things he'd paid attention to.

More so the regenerative properties of the material.

Simply out of curiosity, out of dark hope, that just maybe, they'd be able to fix his vision.

Not that he liked the idea of exploded when he got too warm. That was, well, yeah, that was something.

Not like he would have been able to sign up for the company anyway, given the fact it had all crumbled under the might that was Ironman.

And given what they'd been up to with that Extremis stuff, killing people, Matt would never had stuck around anyway. Perhaps it was for the best.

"Foggy, Foggy," the insistent chirping of his phone called out from the bedside table and Matt gave a low groan, forcing his hand to pick up the device and not rub at his aching side like he longed to. His mind was still whirling about, still trying to grasp onto the ideas that he really did not want to think about, but couldn't seemingly avoid.

He did not want to be thinking about the English girl that was his Splitting.

Not when he'd screwed it up so badly.

"Hello?"

"Good morning, sunshine!"

Foggy's cheerful voice filtered down through the phone as Matt adjusted his legs, barely holding down the hiss that threatened to escape his lips when his torso whined in the process.

"What time is it?"

"Half past get the hell up! Let's go, we gotta meet the real estate agent in 45." Forty five minutes?

Matt'd be lucky to make it halfway down the stairs in that time, given how much his side seemed to be paining him.

He could feel the swelling that came as a result of bruising, probably a nice dark plum colour by now. He could remember the colour of plums, even if it was more the flavour, the texture, the smell that he knew better now. It had been a long time since he'd seen anything but fire.

Shuffling to the edge of the bed, Matt let out a pained, throaty groan when he moved his legs just a bit too quickly and his ribs roared in protest.

"What was that? Was that a moan? Do you have somebody in bed with you?"

He could have. Maybe.

If he wasn't blind then maybe he'd have found his Splitting sooner, back when he'd saved her from those Russians the first time around.

But no, he was broken and she'd seen him in the vigilante act and he really didn't want to think about this right now.

Another groan escaped his lips without his consent, and he could almost feel Foggy perking up on the other end of the phone.

"The paralegal? Is it the para over at- Never mind, I don't wanna hear about it. No, I do wanna hear about it! What was she like?"

Exhaling sharply and feeling his injured muscles contract over his ribcage, Matt blinked, fingers curling into the silk sheets that, despite being the softest material he'd found, still felt rather rough.

"Violent."

Foggy's amusement was obvious as he continued talking, and Matt listened with half an ear, mentally cataloguing where the various pieces of his suit lay within his room.

The vigilante outfit was carefully packed away, a task he'd completed before collapsing into bed that night. His day suit, well, he'd soon find it.

He could only hope that Foggy hadn't snuck another obnoxious orange shirt into the mix, like he'd done back in law school. The ass had laughed for days about the whole thing.

Rolling his eyes, a motion that'd remained since childhood and was one of the few outward expressions he allowed -when you can hear as much as he did, crafting a brilliant poker face was absolutely necessary- Matt let Foggy hang up on him.

There, he sat on the edge of his bed, beating back the thoughts and worries and everything else that concerned his Splitting, and instead went about drumming up the willpower to get up and prepare for the day.

 

* * *

 

 

_"So, are we going to talk about this?" Her voice was soft, quiet but filled with a kind of iron that sat heavy in her words._

_"That you just melted a gun with your hand?" He was still struggling to accept that. But the heat that continued pouring off of the lump of metal she'd dropped to the floor was as good an indication as any that a gun had certainly been melted. Well, he was certainly going to be keeping a distance from the English woman now._

_"No. The fact that we glow."_

_He stilled, muscles coiling._

_They glowed?_

_He couldn't be glowing, the odds of running into his Splitting were astronomically low. He remembered saving this girl -who, from the whole gun summoning, melting thing, clearly didn't need saving- from the Russians a few days back. How she'd managed to track him down, Matt wasn't too sure. Her motive was questionable too, he couldn't tell if they were glowing, but-_

_"You're not lying…" Lips pulling down into a frown, Matt reached up to run a hand through his hair, remembering at the last second he was still wearing the mask. He wasn't suppose to run into her like this. He was suppose to meet his Splitting, if he ever did at all, while he was normal._

_Not out beating up thugs._

_"Why woul- You didn't see it."_

 

* * *

 

 

"Matt! Matt! You're glowing!" It took everything in him not to freeze in horror.

His Splitting couldn’t be here, his Splitting couldn't be just walking about Hell's Kitchen, hoping that she'd just, run into him.

But, now that he was focusing, now that he was looking for it in the masses, he could pick out the steady thrumming of her heartbeat. Just a little quicker than all the others around him, palpitating with anticipation.

People around them were whispering, clearly quite excited to be witnessing what they probably assumed was the first meeting of Splittings.

Foggy included. His heart was going, and there was the slightest increase of blood flow to his cheeks; she was pretty then. Maybe even beautiful.

He'd not really gotten his hands on her face, so it wasn't exactly like he could tell.

"Matt, say something. She's pretty," Foggy not so quietly hissed beside him, and the woman laughed, a low and deeply amused sound.

All he could do was stand there, in nervous expectancy.

He could not influence her choice now. She would either reveal him, or she wouldn’t. Reason dictated that she would; he'd skipped out on her even as she proclaimed the glowed. That, obviously wasn't a falsehood.

Everyone around them was acknowledging they glowed, she wasn't an exceptional liar that could beat even his senses as he'd almost hoped. She had been telling the truth.

And he, her Splitting, had fled.

She'd be quite justified to drop him like a hot rock, to let out his biggest secret. To destroy his relationship with Foggy. Not that she'd know she was doing such a thing, that Foggy was unaware of his vigilante activities.

And it was the same woman as last night; same height, same body shape, same breathing pattern. Her hair fell in the same explosion of loose curls, and she angled her head the same way. She smelt the same; of holly and the warmth of an open flame.

"Hi, I'm Harry Potter."

Matt fought not to allow the confusion to show on his face. She, wasn't saying anything?

"Matt Murdock."

Holding out his hand, Matt cautiously wrapped his fingers around the ones that came up to greet him. Calluses rested on what should have been the soft pad of her thumb, old.

Scarring on her palm, like something had exploded in her hand once upon a time, or she'd fallen caught herself upon broken glass. None of the shards remained, so he couldn't make an accurate guess.

Her skin was soft though, cold, despite the unusual warmth of this year's March, so poor circulation. Her pulse fluttered frantically beneath his fingertips, but to any other, she put up a very believable front.

"I guess since you're all dressed up you're a bit busy? Maybe I could catch you later on and we could talk?"

For a moment, Matt wondered what colour she was glowing at the moment, what colour he was emitting.

"Yeah, he'll totally be there," Foggy jumped in, probably assuming that he was overwhelmed with the idea that he'd found his Splitting.

Matt only half paid attention when Foggy offered the woman, Harry, the address of the office they were going to see today, making plans for her to come and meet up with him in an hour's time. Matt nodded in all the right places, still trying to take in as much of his Splitting as he possibly could.

All his senses were straining in an attempt to focus solely upon her. Her hair was long, stopping just before her ribs did; it'd probably be a lot longer if it were straightened; the muscles in her left forearm was off, having healed from some form of slice; the same with her right, though that was due to an old puncture wound just before the curve of her elbow.

"Okay, so, meeting in an hour?"

There was a soft question in her heavily accented words, the English idiom heavy as it wove free of her lips.

"Yes. And Miss Potter?" He cautiously reached out, even though he knew where he face sat.

Harry played along, catching the back of his hand and allowing him to press his palm against the curve of her cheek. She was smiling, the slightest crinkling in the corner of her eyes, stray curls tickling at his knuckles.

"Thank you."

She had to understand the context with which he was speaking, because her pulse jumped slightly beneath his careful touch, her smile tightened and Matt pressed a very light kiss to her uncovered cheek in response. He drowned the thought that perhaps this is the only chance he would get.

"It's okay, I figure you can make it up to me by being nice enough to answer all my questions."

His fingers caught the slight muscle movement as Harry's eyes swivelled over to look in Foggy's direction, a cheeky wink directed at his friend before she continued with, "I want to know how many angry ex-girlfriends I'll be fighting off. I bet there's a fair few."

Foggy snorted, nodding along as Matt slowly retracted his hand. Harry caught it though, pressing a kiss to the tips of his fingers and smiling again. Were it not for his senses, not for the fact he'd met her twice before, he might have believed her flirty, cheeky act.

"Oh, an Matthew? It's Harry, not Miss Potter."

This close, he could hear the muscles in her jaw shift as she offered what would surely be a winning smile, followed by a cheerful goodbye.

 

 

 

Matt stood there for a few seconds, head still spinning with all this new information, this strange idea that she hadn't exposed his secret, hadn't mentioned a word of his extracurricular activities.

So absorbed in his thoughts, he actually jumped when Foggy let out a tormented groan, the shift of his hair as he ran his hands through it giving Matt a good idea of how frustrated his friend was.

"Fiery hot Englishwoman, and she's your Splitting?"

So she was good looking then. He'd gotten a reasonable impression of one side of her face, but it was nice to get the confirmation.

"So she's good looking then?" Matt asked casually, cocking his head to a side and listening to the disappearing footsteps, the fading heartbeat, as Harry Potter put more and more space between them.

"Oh yeah, totally hot. Like, supernova hot. Mass of fireengine red hair, and her eyes, I mean, wow. I never knew eyes could be so green."

"Sounds kinda like I'm going to have to fight you for her," Matt murmured under his breath, tapping away at the sidewalk in an attempt to get Foggy moving again. It worked.

"No chance Matt, she never took her eyes off you."

Foggy elbowed him gently in the side, no doubt grinning like a madman, and Matt answered with a small smile of his own. Even if he was dreading the approaching meeting…

It was nice to know that perhaps, he hadn't completely screwed this entire thing up. 

**Author's Note:**

> So, I needed to write more on Matt, and I have this desire to pair FemHarry up with everybody. So, this came about. And it will be actually chaptered, and this Prologue takes place just before the start of the Daredevil TV show, like, a week or so? Before Matt and Foggy pick their place to set up shop, so to speak.


End file.
